A content struggler

I got no money.
Yet it’s sunny.

I’m a traveller, I need no home.
I take shelter in the open, my journey is my poem.

I get my food when my lord is me-happy.
Other days he gets a little slappy.

Every unturned stone is my bed.
If not roses, I’m happy with thistle under my head.

That stream and I share the same deer.
The deer and I share the same fear.

But I make friends with the cooling air.
It takes me from here to there, without fare.

If tough days lie ahead, tougher have passed.
Finally after all these years, I have begun to last.

I’m a moment burglar.
A very content struggler.

Bound Homeward

Hurry or leave.
Waste away or grease.

Make out with the deceased.
If it is what you please.

Haven’t I told you already?
That you’re not ready?

Your will is to undo.
Your karma, to listen.

Listen to the radio.
It's blaring on the patio.

Where lush is green.
Life, a big screen.

Hold yourself and out.
Purse within, soul without.

Pursue the rabbit.
Because you’re the dog

Run off the mill.
The downslide starts at the hill.

Back by popular demand.
Now, he demands.

As the world watches.
Scalding torches.

Will you come to where you come from?
Because there’s nowhere else.

Hung High

The truth of my pain
Lies buried in the ocean of some uncertain hope

As it sleeps on the ocean bed
An unfamiliar happiness engulfs me.
It’s as comforting as unnatural

I see you far and beyond
You exist like a loss about to happen

I fear touching you
It might tell me there’s nothing to touch

I bite my lips to teach this pain a lesson
It hides its ugly face for a while
Only to strike back with a vengeance

Helpless, I let my pain
organize my thoughts
In minutes, I turn into a puppet

Held together by strings of despair
Moving aimlessly, lifelessly to tunes of regret

But someone will find me.
Soon.

The hope helps me put on a show,
For my friends who’ll never know
the difference, the change.

At the brink of acceptance

Her boundaries set her free.
Her will is, to be born again.

Her feet is the size of the earth.
Her bosom, full of the nectar of tomorrow.
Her lips move at the slightest touch of a word.
Her hair is a carnival of growth.
The silk of her skin melts in the eye of the beholder.
Her fury was severed in her sleep.
Her fingers refuse to crawl.
Her mind beholds fluidity of life.
Her body curves softly on the desert sand.

She shines like a star.

No me. Know you.

with strokes of time,

masking the seemingly erased.

the brush overdoes,

the painting act.

so painted i was,

i couldn't catch my own glimpse.

so tainted i was,

i camouflaged with the criticism.

.......................................

same. yet not.

abrupt eruption of emotions,

painted by a handicapped mind,

on a canvas previously used.

And well.

...........

i BUMPED into GOLD tonight

lines that painted the pages of yesterday
in colours so blue, red and black.

of differences once known
of unlove once felt
of commoness once uncommon
of blues once reds
of blacks once invisible.

and then, a second of the past
leapt towards me.

held my unconsciousness by the neck
before strangling it hard and dead.

from the death of nothing
rose the living.

so mighty it scared the grey
manhandled insecurity
stifled the lifeless
stripped nothingness
and blurred the darkness.

my gold found me. Once again, forever.

...............................................